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Oct 2013
I've been thinking a lot about one of the more meaningful and meaningless emotions,
the one they call love.

Is anyone else plagued by the thought that with each new venture
the whole experience feels like a regurgitation of past,
like you're playing the same role with new actors,
the same script, but you expect a different ending?

Even when you know, you know.

You say the same sweet lines, do the same warm actions,
feel the same dark often false pangs of "love".

Can you ever go into love untouched, unjaded, unhaunted by your past?

Your mother, father, lack there of, boyfriends, girlfriends,
lovers had and lovers lost and lovers never found,
you think about them with every move,
you think about who you were, who they were,
how this new you and new they could/should/would be.

Who are you?
When are you yourself?
Will you ever be yourself?

Or are you what they want, what they need, what you want them to see?

Can't we just be?

"I love you."

You're just another you.
Mandee Patterson
Written by
Mandee Patterson  Hell
(Hell)   
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